


1/31

by FatlockFills



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Fatlock, Feedism, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlockFills/pseuds/FatlockFills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Jim and Sherlock enjoy a date, their chaperones/protectors are banished to the Chinese buffet across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1/31

"This is a stupid and dangerous idea," Sebastian pointed out. He didn’t expect Jim to listen, he didn’t expect anything to change, but he had to do something to fill the time. Besides, he needed to be able to say "I told you so." 

"Jealous, Tiger?" Jim asked, slicking down his hair with coconut scented oil and then delicately wiping each individual finger clean on a pocket handkerchief. 

"For the last time, you’re not my type. But let me put it to you this way, Irishman: It’s like you’re telling me that protestants and catholics will suddenly get along." Sebastian got out of the car first, scanned the scene. He could see three plainclothes officers from here, and a long, sleek black car that was parked but seemed to still have people in it. The windows were completely opaque, but it seemed lower to the ground than the cars next to it. "There’s the usual entourage here," he said, opening the door of Jim’s own sleek black car and letting the well dressed crime lord out. 

"Tsk. We don’t need chaperones. We’re both far too old for that." Jim straightened his tie in the reflection from Sebastian’s sunglasses and then sauntered over to the door of the Italian restaurant. Before he reached them Sherlock Holmes appeared in a flurry of dark coat and kept pace with him. 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. Sherlock was tall, dark, thin, and quite clever, but next to Jim he was a kitten. He was good. He used his skills to solve crimes, not do anything truly dangerous. Jim seemed like a spider next to him, venomous and cruel. They didn’t kiss, they didn’t even touch, but their eyes crawled over one another greedily, taking every detail, every deduction possible from scraps of evidence. The very air around them was charged, and Sherlock wasn’t even smiling back. 

Behind Sebastian, a throat cleared. “Well. If you would continue inside, this charade could get underway.” 

"Shut up," Sherlock said, at the same time Jim rolled his eyes. 

"Now now, Iceman, don’t worry. It’s a room full of people who can protect The Virgin’s innocence. You don’t have to come along to put everyone off their supper." 

"I have to stay outside, but you’re going to bring a hired killer in to eat at the next table? I think not." 

"And what, exactly, would you do to stop me?" Sebastian looked Mycroft up and down. He was the interesting Holmes brother. There was no way to deny that that intellect had done some gray dealings in the past, and that was fascinating. Unlike Jim, Mycroft was more Sebastian’s type: tall, lighter features, with lightish eyes he couldn’t quite decide the color of and brown/auburn hair. He was thin as well, but Jim had the whipcord thinness that comes from running miles on a treadmill every day, lifting weights twice a week, and letting a good suit hide how well muscled he was. Mycroft tended to pool in the middle, thin but not muscular, soft despite the constant diets Sebastian knew about because Sherlock, without fail, brought it up every time the four of them got together. The idea that Mycroft could do anything at all to oppose him was laughable. 

Mycroft lifted his chin, but didn’t reply. 

"Exactly." Sebastian folded his arms over his chest. 

"Well. Iceman is worried because Sebastian is here, and Sebastian isn’t worried about anything, so clearly Sebastian is going to leave and Iceman will follow." Jim stuck his hands in his pockets, grinning. 

"Jim, this is—" 

"Shut up!" Jim said cheerfully, smile widening, and Sebastian’s teeth clicked together as he shut his mouth. "Stay." Sebastian took half a step forward and Jim pulled his hand out of his pocket, raising one warning finger. "Ah?" Sebastian stayed, face burning, and Jim laughed and turned on his heel, walking into the restaurant. Sherlock stayed for a moment and then followed. 

Sebastian crossed and uncrossed his arms and then turned around himself, glaring at the plainclothes officers he could see, and settling down for what would most likely be three hours standing out in the worsening cold while Jim made calf-eyes across the table at Sherlock Fucking Holmes. 

"You’re not really going to stand there until they come out, are you?" Mycroft asked after a moment. Sebastian looked at him. 

"I could leave. But we took the same car, so—" What a stupid thing to say. He shrugged. 

"I’m not leaving until they come out either. Not really. But I am going to eat dinner." Mycroft gestured across the street, to the only other restaurant within four blocks: a cheap, greasy Chinese buffet. "Care to join me?" 

The wind blew down the street, reminding Sebastian that he’d expected to be inside, and he’d neglected to bring a jacket. Jim would be upset; Jim told him to stay. A car honked. Mycroft looked at him. The wind blew through the hair on his arm, reminding him that the sun had gone down half an hour ago. 

"Fine," he said, and stalked inside. 

—-

"Have you tried the salt and pepper fish yet? They just set out a new batch. Quickly, while it’s still sizzling." Mycroft gestured to the steam table, and Sebastian lunged to his feet and crossed the distance in long, loping strides. He’d been wrong about this place. It was cheap, greasy Chinese, but in the best possible way. It was juicy, fatty, rich, salty, and fantastic. Everything was full of flavor and as he piled his plate high with soft, white fish chunks coated in a beautiful golden batter he could feel himself drooling. 

—-

"Salt and pepper pork chops," Mycroft reported some time later, setting his sixth or seventh plate down on the table. For a thin man he still had a fat man’s appetite, and he was looking more comfortable than Sebastian was. "It’s amazing how a single recipe can change so much depending on the meat." He settled himself down, picked up a large chunk of meat, and bit into it. Juice ran down his chin and he moaned obscenely. 

Sebastian didn’t lunge to his feet. He couldn’t. He never ate like this, never let a meal slow him down, but now he stood with a barely suppressed groan. First broccoli beef, and some chow mein, and a steamed bun full of bean paste. Then vegetable stir fry, two plates while he tried to keep his meal under control. Then a plate of almond cakes and sweet lotus buns, as his control slipped. Then salt and pepper fish, fatty, delicious spare ribs, spicy chicken wings in a honey glaze, and more ribs, and now his belly was stretched and swollen and irritable as he made his slower way to the steam tables. He’d lost control now, dreamily piling steaming hot slices of pork chops, clear rinds of deep fried fat on the edges, onto his plate. His abs were tight and conditioned usually, so it was even more of a feat that his middle now rounded out against his shirt, obscenely tight; if they weren’t in public he would have stripped it off. If it had buttons they might have burst, but instead the hem lifted an inch or two, riding up his stuffed belly. 

Mycroft was having that problem. With buttons. They were gaping as he leaned forward, demolishing his pile of meat with dedication and rapturous noises. Sebastian watched his pale skin become more and more visible. Otherwise he watched his plate, with the pile of bones growing as the salty, hot, juicy meat disappeared. When the plate was empty he leaned back, panting slightly, and Mycroft rolled his eyes. 

"Can’t take any more?" he asked. "Don’t you want to keep up? You have the macho persona down, surely you don’t want to be beaten." Sebastian didn’t answer, just hauled himself up, this time not able to keep the groan to himself, and waddled heavily to the steam tables to fill his plate with sweet and sour pork, more salt and pepper pork, and more of those heavenly spareribs. Mycroft followed him a moment later, belt clearly digging in to his belly, and the contest was officially begun. 

From the moment the contest started it was neck in neck, but finally Sebastian had to admit defeat. He couldn’t get up from the table, too bloated and huge and sluggish, and every breath sent a ripple of pain through his distended gut. Mycroft, though also incredibly overstuffed, simply untucked his shirt and, once that was done, unbuttoned his trousers with a sexual sigh. He looked contented, pleased, even smug as his hand rubbed the heavy belly that drooped into his lap. Sebastian was practically drowsing at the table. They sat there until the workers finally came to shoo them out, eyes glaring at the pair that had ruined their profit margin for the day. Mycroft paid the bill, and Sebastian didn’t even have the energy to argue against it. It was a struggle just to sit up and slide out of the booth; unlike Mycroft, he couldn’t undo his trousers because his shirt no longer hung low enough to disguise the fact. When he leaned forward he could feel the button creak as the pressure of his painfully swollen gut rested on it. The best he could do was tug his trousers lower; he’d already had to do that once, so they fastened beneath the swell of his overfed stomach. 

The night air actually felt good on his skin when he got outside, that warm strip of belly cooled by the night air. Mycroft sighed, adjusted his clothing, and turned towards his car—only to turn back again. “Well. I always wondered what I’d do if I had to eliminate you, Moran.” He had a slight smile on his face. 

"Ha, ha. You’d poison my meal, is that it?" 

"Of course not. I’d install a Chinese buffet next to your house. In a month you’d be too fat to be a danger to anyone but a roasted pig." Mycroft’s hand reached out, patting Sebastian’s rock hard belly, and sliding down, tracing the unbelievable roundness of it, to run along that strip of bare skin that was suddenly more sensitive than anything Seb had felt before. He pinched the skin with some difficulty. "You know my number. Send me a picture tomorrow. I want to see how much damage I did to you in one night. Get on the scale, too." 

Sebastian moaned, confused and aroused, horrified at the sudden way he was rock hard in his trousers, looking at the overfed government employee with horror and… he’d been trying to suck it in, and now he stopped, belly rounding out that half inch more. Mycroft grinned. “Yes, I thought so. A month. So 31 visits, we’ll say, just to be generous. 30 more visits here and I’ll have you fattened and tame. Just see if I don’t.” Mycroft gave the side of Sebastian’s overfed belly a rough pat, not quite a slap, and sauntered away, swirling his umbrella on every other step. 

Sebastian waddled painfully to the car, mind swirling. He barely managed to crawl into the back seat before he had one hand down his pants and the other running over and over his tight stomach, tugging his shirt down just to prove to himself that it wouldn’t go all the way down again. Wouldn’t ever again, if Mycroft had his way. He came inside a minute, hard and powerful, the clenching making his stomach feel tighter than ever. Then he slid sideways, eyes closing as he slid into slumber, orgasm and food coma knocking him out, not even thinking of what Jim would do when he came out and found him like this, almost too bloated to move, with his trousers undone and pushed down.

**Author's Note:**

> Requested via fatlock.tumblr.com: Sebcroft is my number 1# fatlock pairing for some reason?? So if you haven't gotten too many unusual pairings yet, maybe a sebcroft where Seb and Mycroft relieve themselves from jim and Sherlock (who also may be dating) by visiting buffets to stuff themselves silly in their own private booths? ❤️❤️sebcroft❤️❤️


End file.
